


Yuletide Greetings

by WinsomeEarl



Category: Dream Corp LLC
Genre: Bananagrams, Moonshine, Recreational Drug Use, Yule, but that won't stop T.E.R.R.Y., dream corp fandom where u at??, garfield makes an appearance on a sweatshirt, robots can't get drunk, this is the first dream corp fic apparently, this was originally a lot nastier than it is now so ur welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinsomeEarl/pseuds/WinsomeEarl
Summary: 88 crashes his car during a blizzard while trying to get home from work and is forced to spend the night with his two least favorite coworkers.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 6





	Yuletide Greetings

As Dr. Roberts, Bea, and Ahmed go on break early for the day, 88 is stuck behind mopping up a can of Dr. Robert's beef stroganoff, which had been spilled when a patient with a fear of snakes had mistaken the can's cold surface for the skin of a reptile and had knocked it out of the doctor's hands. All the appointments for the day had been cancelled after that. 88 couldn't figure out why. Dr. Roberts had never been concerned about a sanitary working environment in the past, and there was no reason for him to start now. As he makes his rounds from the patient area, behind the controls, the break room, the front hallway and reception area, 88's headphones slip out for the first time and he quickly notices that the building has become much quieter than normal. In fact, he hasn't seen any of the other while he was cleaning, and their break seems like it should have ended hours ago. Not only that, but the temperature in the building has dropped to the point where he can see his breath like fog in the air. 88 leans his mop up against the reception wall and rubs his hands against his arms to warm them as he heads back to the patient area. On his way, he walks through the break area.

"Hey 88!" Randy's voice snaps him out of his train of thought. "What are you still doing here?"

Randy and T.E.R.R.Y. are sitting at the table trying to construct a house of cards. Or at least Randy is sitting, while T.E.R.R.Y. rests on his wheels like always and occasionally bumps into the table while trying to balance a card on the stack. Randy is wearing a neon green parka with a brown fur trim and the hood up, apparently having finally let T.E.R.R.Y. wear the 'lasagna naps' sweatshirt, along with a red wool scarf wrapped around the base of his robotic head.

"I'm doing my job," 88 says dryly, as if the answer were obvious, "Cleaning up after everyone, just like everyday."

"Yeah, but everyone left like 3 hours ago," Randy blinks back at him, "Didn't you get the blizzard warning?"

88 can feel a headache forming deep in his temples just as T.E.R.R.Y. bumps into the table and the house of card falls into a heap once more.

"Aw, Randy! I wanted to see how long it would take for him to realize!"

88 rubs at his forehead with one hand.

"This is a joke, right?" 88 groans, "Everyone's on break so you turned the heat off for a really bad prank?"

"If you were getting pranked by the Rand-Man, you'd know it," Randy points at him accusingly, before leaning back in his seat, "The heat's off for the weekend, and everyone went home early 'cause there was a blizzard coming. You can go out and check. I mean, it's really blowin' up out there, you might have to stay here for the night."

88 scoffs at him and turns without another word to leave the room. He doesn't want to fall for one of Randy and T.E.R.R.Y.'s mediocre goofs, but even more than that, he doesn't want there to be a blizzard outside which would effectively force him to spend the night with his two least favorite coworkers. Swinging the front door open to prove himself right, 88 is instead greeted by a wall of white snow and the sting of frigid air. He squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught, and fights to pull the door closed against the howling wind.

"Told you!" Randy's voice can be heard echoing from down the hall.

"No you didn't!" 88 shouts back, "If you had, I would have left 3 hours ago like everyone else!"

"What?" Randy cuts him off, "I can't hear you!"

"I said I'm leaving!" 88 shouts once more.

"I don't think that's a good idea, 88!" Randy calls back, "If anything bad happens to you, I'll have to identify your remains from your dental records, which only I have up to date!"

"How do you have my dental records?" 88 yells down the hall, which is in turn met with a brief silence.

"Never mind that!" T.E.R.R.Y. pipes up eventually, "Have a safe trip, 88!"

88 shakes his head. Bracing himself with his head down, he pushes the front door open once again and steps out into the meter deep snow.

Getting into his car proved to be a chore on its own. There was the ice sealing his door shut, and the several feet of snow that he had to trudge through in order to wedge the door open a crack, just enough so he could slip inside. His tank was nearly on empty, but he should be able to stop for gas on the way home. He checks his phone, just to find that it's out of battery, of course, on the one day he forgets his charger at home. He hadn't dressed for this, and the tips of his fingers are nearing purple in color as he turns his key into the ignition. His engine sputters for a bit, refusing to start, at which point 88 may have kicked a bit in his seat and beat his numb fists futilely against the wheel and cursed and screamed. Apparently, he must have hit something correctly, as the engine finally turns over after that. Pulling out onto the road in the driving snow, 88 doesn't get much farther than a few blocks before his car slips on a patch of black ice and takes a nosedive into a telephone pole.

The first thing he's aware of when he comes to is a dull soreness in his nose and left eye, along with the taste of copper in his mouth and throat. Over the ringing in his ears, he hears a muted, repetitive tapping to the left side of his head, and he wishes it would stop.

"Hey, 88?" a voice calls from outside the car, muffled by the wind. "88!"

88 turns his head, only be blinded by a beam of light shining through the driver's side window. He lifts his hand to shield his eyes as the sound of the tapping returns.

"Oh, there he is!" says the figure silhouetted by the flashlight's glare, someone wearing an neon green parka with a fur trim, and a blanket around their shoulders, "See, 88, it works!" 

Randy turns the flashlight on and off in rapid succession in his face.

"I fixed it! Turns out it just needed a new battery. Terry and I heard the crash and figured it was you." As punctuation, Randy then tugs on the door handle several times to no avail. "You gonna open the door for me or what?"

"I just need you to call a tow truck for me, Randy." 88 shouts through the glass, "Or a taxi."

"Oh, call you a taxi?" a familiar voice with a British accent calls from outside the window, "Using what? The telephone pole you just knocked down?"

"Terry..." 88 mutters under his breath, rubbing at his aching forehead as he feels his headache returning in full force. "Could you guys just... call me an Uber then? Anything helpful?"

"No can do, 88," T.E.R.R.Y. says, swiveling his head back and forth as a sign of disapproval, "You really did a number on that pole. You knocked the power right out. Not to mention the internet, by the looks of it."

88 licks his upper lip and tastes the blood that's been leaking out of his smashed nose. He wipes at it weakly with his shivering hand, unable to feel much pain as his whole body feels numb from the cold.

"I think I'll just sleep in my car," 88 manages to get out, teeth chattering, "If anyone passes by, maybe they could give me a ride."

"Suit yourself," quips T.E.R.R.Y., who then rotates on his wheels and begins to roll back in the direction of the building.

"No, hey, come on!" Randy whines, and T.E.R.R.Y. stops in his tracks. Randy raps on the window once more to recapture 88's rapidly slipping attention. "You're gonna get hypothermia, it's 30 degrees out here. When they find you in the morning, they're gonna have to cut your fingers and toes and ears off from all the frostbite. How are you gonna keep your job with no fingers or toes or ears, 88?"

88 considers for a moment what he's heard about how freezing to death is one of the most pleasant ways to die, but then also considers that with his luck, the paramedics would find him just minutes before his heart stopped, and then he'd be left scarred and disfigured AND still working a dead end job for no pay. It would be tragic and poetic if he died, but what an idiot he'd look like if he lived; choosing to waste away out in the cold while being within walking distance of a building he knew to be inhabited. He'd never hear the end of it. With that in mind, he reaches a blue left hand out and feebly pulls the door's handle towards him. He tries to step out of the car on his own, but both of his feet seem to be asleep, and instead he ends up stumbling face-first into Randy's parka. Randy catches him with both arms, and he weakly tries to squirm away. To his surprise, Randy then guides him down weakly to sit on something cold and metallic on the floor. Upon glancing down, 88 notices that it's an upturned trash can lid, which has been tethered to T.E.R.R.Y.'s midsection with a neon jump rope, and now functions as a makeshift toboggan. Randy takes the blanket off of himself and wraps it around 88's shoulders.

"You're n-not gonna c-carry me?" 88 chatters in Randy's direction.

"And get another herniated disc?" Randy shakes his head, "I don't think so!"

As he's sluggishly pulled along, the last thing 88 remembers before slipping into a possibly-concussed sleep is the sight of Randy briefly slipping on a patch of black ice and catching himself just before gravity takes him down.

"That was almost hernia numero dos!" 88 groggily catches Randy exclaiming.

Human beings are so fragile, he hears finally as he drifts off, though he's not sure if it was something T.E.R.R.Y. said or if he just imagined it.

When 88 comes to, he's overwhelmed by the smell of smoke curling into his nose. He sits up abruptly. Where was he? Wasn't he driving last? Was his car on fire? His house?

In his haste, his forehead smacks into a low wooden beam hanging above his head. He groans and brings up a hand to rub at his aching face bones.

"I told you we should have put him in the top bunk!" he hears a familiar nasal voice whine.

"Oh right, like I want skin cells and sweat and other nasty human effluvia on my clean sheets."

88's existential panic slowly fades into the everyday mind-numbing dread that he's become accustomed to while working at Dream Corp LLC. He looks down to find himself bundled up in the same neon green parka he had seen Randy wearing earlier, along with a tangle of faded, sweat-stained sheets with a series of orange cartoon cats printed on them. Realizing that his unconscious body must have been laying in Randy's bunk, he musters all of his strength and in one motion rolls off of the mattress and onto the floor. He lets out a muted groan of pain, but the temporary discomfort in his back is nothing compared to the emotional discomfort of having to lay in Randy's bed. He struggles futilely to untangle himself from the cocoon of sheets and Randy's gaudy green parka. The sweltering heat in the room does nothing to help his frustration as he flails pathetically against his bindings like a fly in a spider's web. He hears, or, seeing as he's on the ground, feels the rumble of footsteps approaching and looks up to see Randy for the first time. He's wearing something unusual on his head, like a hat made of twigs.

"Hey, sleeping beauty!" Randy chimes, before straddling a nearby chair backwards.

"Hey, Randy." 88 grinds out, face down.

"I thought you would like being all snuggled up in a little burrito," Randy pipes on, his happy tone grating on 88's nerves, "By the way, bet you didn't know about this, burrito is Spanish for little donkey!"

"I did know that, Randy." 88 bites out curtly, "I'm Mexican, remember?"

At this point, 88 has somewhat managed to untangle himself from the bed dressings and is now pulling feverishly at the zipper of the coat, which seems to have consumed a mouthful of fur lining and stubbornly refuses to budge. Worrying at the zipper, he takes in the room for the first time. Randy has his 'babies', a collection of large green caterpillars, larvae and butterflies, in a sizable glass terrarium on the wall. There are white string lights strewn about the ceiling in a haphazard fashion, along with an overwhelming array of scented candles. The main source of the smoke, however, seems to be coming from a roaring fire which Randy and T.E.R.R.Y. have started in a metal wastepaper bin in the center of the room, in which Randy and T.E.R.R.Y. have taken to burning old patient files and paper wrappers for 'Mini Meatpop Jrs." Glancing at a nearby wrapper which has escaped from the flames to land nearby on the floor, 88 notices that there's a small asterisk by the word 'Meat' and squints to read the fine print. '100% Lab-Grown Meat By-Product Made From In Vitro Culture' the wrapper reads. 88 grimaces. He squints up through the smog to look at Randy once more.

"What are you wearing on your head?" he asks, not without judgement.

Either not noticing his clipped tone or simply ignoring it, Randy beams up at the tangle of weeds perched upon his head.

"It's my holly crown," he says proudly, and then, as if it's in any way an explanation, he beams, "I'm Holly King for the night."

"What the hell is a holly king?" 88 grimaces.

"It's a pagan thing." T.E.R.R.Y. cuts in, momentarily pausing his purge of the old patient files to roll over to a nearby ransacked filing cabinet, "The Holly King rules in the winter, and the Oak King rules in the spring. At Yule, the Holly King gives up his throne so the Oak King can take over." 

"But not without a fight!" Randy cheers and playfully shoves T.E.R.R.Y. so hard he almost tips over.

"Randy, you're pagan?" 88 asks with curiosity, "I figured you were one of those neckbeard atheists who argues with people online all day."

Randy laughs fondly to himself.

"Not anymore!" he sighs nostalgically.

"The waffle iron is pagan," T.E.R.R.Y. pipes up, "so I decided to convert before I met her parents."

"I converted too." Randy explains, "I figured it would be easier if we did it together."

"If it-" 88 starts.

"She." T.E.R.R.Y. corrects.

88 rolls his eyes.

"If she's the reason you're celebrating this holiday, how come she isn't even here?"

"She's gone home to spend the holidays with her family, you numpty," T.E.R.R.Y. chides, "Not all of us are unlovable loners who stay home alone and watch Die Hard over and over on Christmas day."

"How is that any different from what you two are doing?" 88 gripes.

"Me and Randy are family... probably." T.E.R.R.Y. asserts with confidence, dropping an especially fat file into the bin and causing a huge fireball to bloom into the air. 88 can feel his eyebrows singing from meters away.

"We could be step-brothers." Randy pipes up. "Dr. Roberts always says I'm like the son he never had. If only we could find a way for him to legally adopt me."

"And we're spending the holiday together." T.E.R.R.Y. finished proudly.

88 sighs, forgetting why he cared so much about a pagan waffle iron in the first place.

"What do you even do for Yule? It just seems like a bootleg Christmas, with two Santas instead of one."

"Oh, it's like any other holiday really- just an excuse to get drunk." T.E.R.R.Y. says flippantly, before pausing to add seriously, "Please don't tell my girlfriend I said that."

88 finally manages to free his shoulders from his cocoon of sheets, only to realize that something isn't right. His eyes widen.

"Randy, where are my clothes?" 88 asks, a dangerous edge hinting into his voice.

"We threw them in the wash!" Randy says easily, like its obvious, and gestures to a wooden tub in the corner with a washing board sticking out of it. The floor around it is boasting a halo of suds, and 88 can see his hoodie, undershirt and sweatpants piled on top of it. "They were soaked through with snow and nose blood. Me and T.E.R.R.Y. couldn't leave you like that!"

As if on cue, 88's nose and eye socket reach a peak of pulsating and aching as they should. He groans and rubs at his forehead, though it seems to only be spreading around the pain.

"Randy, what am I supposed to wear?" 88 asks somewhat desperately.

Randy looks offended for a moment.

"Well, I gave you my coat, didn't I?

88 huffs. Randy's coat reminded him of the unwashed jerseys they were forced to wear in middle school gym class, judging by smell alone.

"Something you haven't worn a million times?" 88 suggests.

Randy sighs like a martyr and gets up to go to his dresser.

"I guess you could wear my t-shirt from Garfield Eats," he relents, now digging through his drawer, "I was saving it for my virtual tour of the restaurant with Nathan on New Years Day, but it is a bit small for me. Maybe you could flex your muscles while you wear it, to try to stretch it out a little? I don't want Nathan seeing my erect nipples through my shirt. They always get like that when I'm nervous, and I don't want to scare him away too quickly."

88 rolls his eyes.

"Fine," he says, and Randy tosses him the shirt, which lands halfway across the room.

"Dammit!" Randy cries, and walks across the room to give it a second try. This time it lands only a few feet away from 88, who's able bend over and grab it without his goods falling out. 88 slips on the shirt, while Randy watches the process intently. Though still without pants, 88 refuses to ask Randy for a pair of his own. Thankfully, the shirt manages to reach halfway to his knees.

"You got anything I could take for this headache? Maybe a motrin?"

Randy plops down onto his chair with a exaggerated huff of exhaustion, and he and T.E.R.R.Y. exchange glances.

"Well, Terry's been making moonshine. He can't drink it himself, so I designed him a software that let's him feel tipsy. Neat, huh?" 

"Randy, that's not what I asked."

Randy settles lower into his chair with a exaggerated huff of exhaustion, and he and T.E.R.R.Y. exchange glances.

"We might have something a little stronger than motrin. Randy?" 

"I just got up!" Randy shouts forlornly. "You get it!"

"Fine," TERRY gives a robotic sigh and rolls unsteadily off in the direction of the door. While he's gone, Randy makes no attempt to hide the fact that he's blatantly staring at 88.

"So..." Randy starts after a moment, robotic hand flexing under his chin as he leans on the headrest of the chair, "You wanna play charades?"

"Not really," 88 bites out with little sympathy. Thankfully, T.E.R.R.Y. rolls back into the room soon enough, and holds a pill bottle out to 88 with his robotic arm. After taking it, 88 makes hard work of popping the lid off and squints down at the little orange pill bottle's contents. The label suggests it's from Ahmed's lab, but little else.

"What is this?" 88 asks, sure he won't care about the answer either way.

"Oxycontin," Randy states, as TERRY says "Morphine" at the same time. Randy shrugs. 

"Same difference," he says.

"How many are you supposed to take?" 88 asks because he thinks that he should.

"Uhh..." T.E.R.R.Y. pauses for a minute to do what may be careful calculations or totally haphazard guess work before going on with questionable certainty, "Just take about four or five... or six."

88 shrugs, tilts the pill bottle back to swallow as many little white tablets as possible, before following it down quickly with a moonshine chaser from the jar Randy hands to him.. Randy and T.E.R.R.Y. both give a whoop of approval as 88 swallows the medicinally bitter mouthful with a grimace. He then sticks his tongue out to show that nothing remains on his palate.

"If we're having a party, give me one of those too!" Randy chirps, holding his robotic hand out. 88 tosses him one which slips right through his robotic fingers.

"That doesn't count," Randy exclaims quickly, "Just throw it in my mouth."

Randy opens his mouth like a baby bird, and 88 takes a few tries to get it in. Pellets of white morphine (or oxycontin, whichever it is), ricochet off of Randy's face and glasses and litter the floor like confetti.

"Ok, I got one," Randy says, and 88 can already feel his mood improving greatly as his pain fades and his headache subsides and he isn't actually sure he managed to land a pill in Randy's mouth.

Eventually, the three decide to play bananagrams.

"Seeing as its a sleepover," 88 slurs, uncleaned mason jar of moonshine in hand, once he's fully gotten into the party spirit, "Do you guys have crushes on anyone or anything?"

T.E.R.R.Y. snorts with contempt.

"Uh, yeah, my girlfriend." T.E.R.R.Y. bites back sarcastically. "Me and the waffle iron had our six month anniversary party just last week in the office. Try to pay attention to the people around you, 88."

"Don't mind him." Randy soothes, "Terry is a mean drunk." 

With that, T.E.R.R.Y. decides that the game is finished and rolls over their collected tiles with an angry shout. 

"And I have a fiance, remember?" Randy continues, "We had our wedding in the cafeteria and everything. He got cold feet at the last minute, but we still went on our honeymoon! I've even still got the rope burns to prove it."

Drunken rampage over, T.E.R.R.Y. rolls over to 88 conspiratorially.

"What about you, 88?" he whispers. If T.E.R.R.Y. had eyebrows, he would have wiggled them suggestively. 

"What about me?" 88 asks confused, having lost the thread of the conversation.

"Who do you like!" T.E.R.R.Y. singsongs.

88 scoffs derisively.

"I'm done with women. Girls only like jerks, and nice guys finish last."

"Well with that attitude they do." T.E.R.R.Y. mutters under his breath. "I didn't even say it had to be a girl, geez."

"Speaking of girls," T.E.R.R.Y. continues conspiratorially after a pause, directing his newfound enthusiasm towards Randy, "It's time for me to beat you like a girl and win back my crown!"

With that, Randy pulls over a low folding table from the corner of the room, and he and T.E.R.R.Y. crouch around it as 88 continues to sip at his moonshine. T.E.R.R.Y. does some stretches, which mostly consist of him swiveling his head side to side while extending and retracting his tiny metal arm.

"For Yule, I usually let Terry win," Randy confides to 88 in a low voice, "after that one time I accidentally snapped his arm off."

"Wow," 88 breathes, unsubtly in awe at his display of strength.

"It took a week for me to solder it back on correctly."

"I remember that!" 88 exclaims, "That week where Terry was in a cast!"

"Yep, he's my little trooper,"

The arm wrestle commences, and T.E.R.R.Y., as expected, wins. He is bestowed a crown, not dissimilar to Randy's excusing the addition of several plastic acorns, and the title of Oak King, Harbinger of Spring. After that comes the exchange of gifts. 88, as expected, doesn't have a gift for either of his hosts, a fact which T.E.R.R.Y. derides him for in spite of not having brought gifts for anyone either. He says his gift for Randy is an elaborate surprise, one he isn't ready to reveal yet. As a result, the gift giving is predominantly carried out by Randy.

"It's an egg slicer!" Randy exclaims as 88 unwraps the strange, multi-bladed package that's been handed to him.

88 gives Randy a questioning stare just as T.E.R.R.Y. cuts off any forthcoming comments he might have by rolling over his hand and then casually talking over his shout of pain.

"I, for one, am extremely grateful for my Yule gift, Randy, and I intend to make use of it this instance. Now help me get into my bunk."

88, with his injured hand, and Randy struggle to lift T.E.R.R.Y. up into his top bunk so he can listen to his new white noise machine while he powers down for the night. Randy insists that 88 use his bunk, while 88 refuses in favor of a blanket on the floor. Woozy as he is, 88 doesn't think to face away from Randy as he lays down to sleep. Randy has taken to blatantly staring at him again, but this time 88 doesn't notice. T.E.R.R.Y.'s fan hums away overhead.

"Hey, 88?" Randy cuts through the silence with a whisper that's not very quiet.

The lump on the floor grunts in a way that might be acknowledgement. 

"Are we friends?"

The lump on the floor rustles to itself.

"Of course we're friends, Mandy," 88 mumbles, drifting finally into the realm of sleep.

Randy shrugs.

"Close enough."

He looks up to T.E.R.R.Y.'s top bank.

"Did you get that?" He asks the darkness excitedly.

"Eeeyup!" T.E.R.R.Y.'s voice pipes up from the top bunk. The red light of a camcorder can be seen gleaming from the shadows.

88 lets out a small snore.

"88?" Randy asks again. Propped up on one elbow, he grips 88's shoulder with his robotic hand and rolls him onto his back. 88, who's eyes have fluttered shut, lets out another snore, louder this time. He's also drooling a bit. "Aww, little guy's knocked himself out. Oh well."

Randy winces slightly as he looks once more at the angle of 88's sleeping form splayed on the carpet.

"You're gonna be sore in the morning, buddy."

"Oh yeah!" T.E.R.R.Y. laughs, and holds his arm out for Randy to hi-five, at which point something tumbles out from the slot where he keeps his retractable arm and onto the bedroom rug.

"Whoops!" T.E.R.R.Y. exclaims with little concern.

Randy bends to pick up the object that fell onto the rug, and realizes that its a pair of wire cutters. He blanches.

"Terry, did you cut 88's breaks?"

"No, but I did cut a few of those telephone wires while you weren't looking to make sure 88 would stay the night."

"Why would you do something like that?" Randy asks, more curious than surprised.

"Because I forgot to get you a gift, and I wanted your Yule to be special!"

Randy's confused expression morphs into one of surprised delight.

"Oh, Terry!" he exclaims, "You shouldn't have!"

He reaches up to give T.E.R.R.Y. a 45% human-55% robotic hug.

"I know!" T.E.R.R.Y. practically giggles, "But I did!"

Randy gives a contented sigh.

"Just having you as my friend is a good enough gift," he gushes as he settles himself back down onto the comforter.

"How was your last night as royalty, Holly King?" T.E.R.R.Y. asks from his perch in the darkness. Randy, laying on his back with his hands clasped on his stomach, smiles up at the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling. He shrugs.

"It was pretty good."

The next morning, for his first act as Oak King, T.E.R.R.Y. goes out and fixes the utility pole while 88 and Randy are still sleeping. When he comes back, he wakes up 88 and helpfully informs him that the men from the cable company must have come and fixed it during the night. 88 makes a comment that he's surprised they managed to fix it so quickly given that the strip mall is in the middle of nowhere, and of course T.E.R.R.Y. insults both his intelligence and his lack of faith in America's utility workers for saying such a thing. He calls a cab on Dr. Robert's card and 88 rides home, hungover and still wearing Randy's slightly too small t-shirt. The second-hand egg slicer which had been given to him as a gift lays dejected on the bedroom floor. Though Randy would likely disagree, T.E.R.R.Y. supposes that a too tight Garfield t-shirt is too good of a Yule present for 88 anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I've been working on this thing for an embarrassingly long time, and after watching the season 3 finale, I believe the world is finally ready for it. I think it takes place somewhere in season 2, or maybe right before season 3 starts? Also I guess this is technically jossed because in the most recent episode Randy mentioned that he hasn't seen snow in 15 years, but oh well. Disclaimer: All of my extensive Garf-Knowledge comes from Quinton Reviews and Wyatt Duncan, the two leading Online Garfield Historians. If you spot any Garf-centric inaccuracies, you'll have to take it up with them.


End file.
